Holiday Anarchy
by Fuzzy Peaches1
Summary: A collection of short one-offs as requested by my most enthusiastic and dedicated readers and reviewers. There will be sweetness, humour, smut and everything I know you weirdos love.
1. Chapter 1

**As requested by Darryls Cherokee Rose**

**Takes place in the Tig & Jamie AU without giving away where I'm going with "Final Wisdom." This was kind of tricky to accomplish but ...**

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Dawn Trager pushed the cooked peas around her plate, slouching in her chair with one arm across her stomach. Startling her, her father kicked her under the table.

"Sit up. And eat your meal," he barked pointing at her plate like there might be confusion on which food was hers.

"I _am_," she whined back, knowing she sounded like a brat but also not caring. Christ, the things she had to do to get money out of him.

"What grade are you in?" the weird kid in glasses asked, looking at her with great interest.

She caught how her father covered the smile that question brought out. "I was in the eleventh grade," she said begrudgingly. There was no reason to be _totally _rude.

"You're not in school right now?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes a bit. "No, I'm not."

"Are you working?" the woman at the table asked.

Dawn studied her again for about the eightieth time since arriving. She had no idea what her father was doing here with this one who called herself Jamie. It seemed ludicrous. She was quiet, unbelievably polite and downright kind, pretty, and a hell of a lot younger than her dad was. Dawn wasn't suspicious of her motives or anything, she was actually assuming something was very wrong with her.

"No, I'm not," Dawn answered, disinterested. Her father kicked her again, and she overreacted. She jumped, squawked and kicked him back. "Stop _kicking _me!" she shouted. She was very aware of how unbelievably loud she was but this house was so fucking quiet it was making her nuts.

"Watch your tone," her dad snarled, grabbing her wrist. "You're behaving like a real bitch."

Dawn yanked her hand away, glaring at him. "Why am I here?"

He tilted his head, a posture of challenge. "You tell me, honey."

She sighed again, putting her fork down. "Look, I'm just here for money, okay?" Then she watched his face, because his expression was one she hadn't seen for a long time. He looked … _hurt_.

That's when Dawn remembered she was in someone else's house, and being rude. There was a bit of shame to that, and she looked quickly to the kid, then this Jamie woman. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, dropping her eyes to her plate again.

There was a long pause. Dawn could _feel _her father seething, and her own embarassment added a tension to the room. The kid was just eating, waiting for the adults to fix the discomfort of this meal. When she looked back at her dad, he was staring at his plate but that look was still there. _Shit_. Sometimes she forgot that he still managed to care, even if all he had to offer was the odd cash donation.

"What time do you have to go in tomorrow?" Tig Trager asked Jamie. Again Dawn's attention was snagged by his tone. He was concerned, downright worried for this woman.

Dawn watched as Jamie tucked some hair behind her ear. "Eleven," she said simply.

"Perfect. I'll stay with you during treatment."

Now Dawn was startled as the woman replied, "Good," with a sweet smile before turning back to her dinner.

Dawn's study went from Jamie to her dad. Her father's face was reverent, attentive, and … in love. Holy shit, her dad was over the moon for this one.

Well that was interesting.

"So, Jamie," she began, leaning forward, suddenly interested, elbows on the table. "Where do _you _work?"

"I'm off work right now. Medical reasons."

Dawn frowned. "Really? You look okay to me."

"Dawn!" her dad snapped.

"What?" she shot back, defensive. "I'm just asking."

"It's okay, Tig," the woman said in that sweet way of hers, and if Dawn hadn't been seeing it she would never believe it. Her dad calmed his shit down and went back to his pork chop. "I'm going through my second round of chemo for breast cancer," Jamie explained, comfortable saying it and making Dawn lean closer to her at the same time.

"Really? That sucks shit. I mean it though, you look good to me. Didn't your hair fall out?"

Jamie giggled, pushing at the hair next to her ear again. "Oh, this is a wig actually."

"It's a fucking good one," Dawn admitted, her dad making a sound that suggested he didn't like the language. Whatever.

"Thank you Dawn," Jamie said, smiling at her. Dawn couldn't help it; she smiled back and picked up her fork again.

"The chops are good too," Dawn added to the sudden quiet in the room. "Thank you, Jamie."

"It's good to have you here, Dawn."

Dawn looked up to see if she was being sarcastic, but she wasn't. Jamie was still smiling at her, then her grin was directed across the table. Dawn took in her dad's response to the grin and felt something warm in her chest. She had no idea what it was about this Jamie woman, but she was … _good _for Tig Trager.

Dawn smiled down at her plate at that thought. Her dad was happy, and knowing that made Dawn happy, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**This one is for Rossi's Lil Devil, champion of the "please add more soon" request. :)**

**This one is an entirely new AU. Hope y'all like it!**

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His tongue was flapping, arms and legs flailing as he fought to breathe. She stared at the reflection of the both of them in the mirror, indifferent as this slug of a man turned red then purple, the cord from the hotel's complimentary built-in hair dryer biting into the fat fucker's throat. It was also cutting the circulation to her fingers, she noticed they were white. But he was obviously worse off at the moment.

She could have laughed. He looked so _pissed off _to be dying. Like he hadn't followed her into the bathroom to beat her head against the floor until she was woozy, violate and stab her through the heart then leave her for dead.

Who should be angry, really?

She'd followed this asshole for months, making sure he was the one hurting and killing escorts, and once she knew for certain she set the trap. The best thing about abusers and killers of women was that they never considered the possibility that they could be the prey themselves.

He was good though, that was the problem. His crime scenes perfect because he was bald and waxed everything, wore gloves and kept most of his clothes on during the attacks so he never got scratched. The scenes of the crimes were all hotel rooms, the women transient, and he was hours away by the time the bodies were discovered. Plus he had no record and worked in sales, which meant he was on the road a lot and never killed close to home.

But she knew better, after _accidentally _seeing him at a lounge with a woman who was found dead two days later. Nothing that she could take to her bosses to nail his ass to the wall. So rather than wait for more people to die she decided to take care of the trash herself.

His body eventually sagged, and his substantial weight fell to his knees. She let him flop forward, keeping the pressure long after he stopped moving, just to be sure he was gone. He'd make a hell of a racket at first, and she hoped no one heard anything.

She flicked the light off as she left the bathroom, rounded a corner to the hotel room, and as she scanned the room she gasped, jumped back and had her Glock out of her waistband before she could even blink. The tall, dark-haired, leather-and-denim clad man in the hotel room leaning casually against the dresser already had a Beretta out and trained on her. Whereas she was startled he was remarkably calm, which made her more nervous.

There was a weird stand-off moment where they just stared at each other. He had his head cocked to the side, and his ice-blue eyes traced down her legs to her feet them back up her body, slower, and she would have shivered from it if she wasn't frozen in place.

Shit. Her first time going vigilante and she was busted; snuck up on as some guy in an MC kutte walks right into her room without her knowing it.

"Here's a tip, sweetheart," he said in an odd, nonplussed cadence and tone. Like he was telling her how to make a fucking soufflé. "When committing a major felony, lock the fucking door."

She took a deep breath, realized she was breathing deep, and caught how his eyes went to her chest. She'd dressed to catch the dead sicko's attention, and now she felt as good as naked. Not just from the outfit, but because she was in a town she didn't know, and she sure as hell didn't know the hierarchy of motorcycle clubs. She knew, residence-wise, they stuck to smaller communities like this one. She was from the big city, and all she knew was what they were taught at the academy. She didn't know if they beat women, raped, or killed them as a rule. She wouldn't have the element of surprise with this guy.

"Who's the stiff?" he asked, smiling out of nowhere, a chuckle in his voice. "He sure didn't see you coming, did he baby?"

"What do you want?" There, that was good. She found a voice.

He raised his eyebrows and straightened up, then tucked his firearm into the waistband of his jeans, at his back. "I don't want anything. I heard the noise. I was in the next room with a … friend. We were done, don't worry. She just left. But …" he took a step towards her and she made a point of raising the Glock, proud of how steady her hand was. He stopped abruptly, brought both hands up, palms out, and kept talking like she hadn't threatened him. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. Once you were done with fatty in there."

She had no response.

It didn't bother him. He kept talking, again like they were in the aisle of a grocery store. "You make sure you take everything with you that you touched, sweetheart. Including the tissue in the trash can over there. You wiped off your lipstick? There could be DNA on that. "

Her blood chilled slightly. "How long were you watching?"

His smile curled up one side of his mouth more than the other and her skin crawled a bit. "I was hoping for a show. You dress like a pro babe, and the blinds weren't closed tight."

"You're a fucking pervert," she accused, her blood once again hot.

"Do I like watching? Who doesn't? Like I was infringing on something private and sacred. Please. I thought you were a whore. And your ass looks pretty good in that leather."

"Back away," she snapped, and he did. It was unexpected, and she stilled again to study him closer. He was ogling her, blatant about it, and she couldn't find it in her to be really bothered. Something felt strange when he suggested she looked … _hot_ in this getup.

She lowered the Glock, and he dropped his hands, his face unchanging. He knew she wouldn't plug him. She tucked the gun away in her waistband, pulling the studded and shredded blouse over the grip. His eyes ran over her chest yet again, and her shiver from before turned into something else.

His eyes ran back to her face and she actually inhaled through her mouth. That made him grin wider. Shit, she was a goddamn open book.

"The blood's running hot, isn't it?"

She didn't answer, couldn't look away from his eyes.

"Kinda … worked up right now?"

She swallowed, trying to figure out why she wasn't trying to get away from him. His face was heavily lined, his nose hooked, chin and upper lip sporting a goatee that was roughly maintained. The neck of his button-down was open. She could see a leather necklace of some kind, a trace of a tattoo on his chest to the side, starting up his neck. She couldn't make out what it was, and for some reason that was attractive, too.

"Yeah, that adrenalin can be a bitch, right?"

Her skin was nearly buzzing, and she wanted this man to put his rough, square hands on her. When he licked his lips. Her nipples hardened.

"What the fuck," she whispered, hand to her forehead.

He moved fast. His hands came to her arms, clamping above her elbows and pressing his mouth on hers hard. He smelled like cigarette smoke, liquor, leather, and horrible perfume. She didn't care about any of that. The heat from his hands, lips and tongue were intoxicating. It was all rough; his grip on her, the way his facial hair scraped her chin, the way his teeth hit hers, pinching her lip and only hurting in a good way.

He pulled away, not letting go. "What's your name?" he rasped, licking his lips again and it was the most amazing thing she'd seen lately.

"Jane," she lied, not even trying to sell it.

"Okay. You be Jane. I'll be Tarzan," he snarled, pulling her in for another kiss.

She let their mouths touch, then she stopped and pushed him away. He let her go, backed off, which was surprising, but his eyes were hooded and hot still. "Don't," she said, stupidly.

"Fucking is great after killing, sweetheart. Believe me."

"Don't."

"You wet?"

Her head jerked back and she stomped around him, putting on a show of being angry. But truthfully she _was_ wet. Fucking drenched, and it was humiliating.

She found herself outside the motel room, realizing she'd left her purse inside and thus her keys as well. As she ran herself down for lack of intelligence her patent leather clutch appeared in front of her. "Forgot something, honey."

She snatched it from his hand and moved to her ride, pulling her keys out. She tried to ignore this odd, wild stranger, but as she hiked her skirt up high on her thighs and threw her leg over the seat of her Harley Softtail Classic she caught sight of him leaning against a support of the awning spanning the walkway in front of the rooms. His eyes burned, and she put her attention back to knocking the kickstand up and pulling on her lid.

"You rode a bike in that skirt, babe?" he drawled, and when she looked up again he made sure she noticed when he adjusted his crotch.

To answer, she put the key in the ignition and started the engine. Even the noise and the rumble cranked up her arousal, looking at him like this. Then he pulled out a tissue, showing the red lipstick she'd wiped off at the dead guy's insistence, and he actually waved goodbye to her with it, like a lady with a hankerchief.

She thought of her DNA being left behind like that, how some day it might bite her in the ass. But she couldn't stay, and she sure as hell wasn't getting close to him again. So she wasted no more time pulling away and heading for the town limits of this _Charming _place.


	3. Chapter 3

**SOA Loving Mom wanted a Happy one-shot with a nurse. I took her idea, mixed it with my own, and this is the result. Hope she likes it. This is also my first foray into Happy's POV, so fingers crossed?**

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Happy Lowman was bored. Bodyguard duty usually entailed _some _kind of action. Killing something. At the very _least _hurting something.

Instead he was getting fucking bedsores from his ass being planted on this vinyl-covered bench for the last hour, and almost every damn day before this for the last week. So why was he there?

Favour to a brother, plain and simple.

Tig Trager managed to find himself a woman he was crazy about. Like, change-you-personality, completely-out-of-his-fucking-mind crazy about. The real kicker was she was _normal_. Pretty, kind, a decent person. Her sister was a shit show but Jamie was … _sweet_. Not Happy's taste, of course. But his brother was in knots over her, so he'd cover this favour no problem.

Tig was in that room, behind the door Happy had been staring at for the last hour. And every damn day for the last week. But he wasn't going to make a scene like a bitch, because behind that door his brother was holding his woman's hand while she had chemicals and poisons pumped into her.

Chemotherapy. The thought freaked Happy out. Cancer killed people, that was an accepted fact. And there was nothing that could be done about it.

Happy _also _killed people, but in his view they'd all deserved it. He was pretty sure the sweet and lovely Jamie never did anything to deserve this. Although, she could swing a bat hard enough to drop a drug dealer.

That thought made him grin.

Most of the guys would have been glad to be on Jamie back-up, and he knew why now. They all had a thing for nurses, every single one of them. He didn't get it himself, not until … _her_.

On cue, she appeared. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, moving the toothpick in his mouth to the other side. The first few times he saw her he liked her hair; dirty blonde, messy waves tied back half-assed in a ponytail. Nice skin, smile. Then one day she was wearing her scrubs without a thermal underneath and he saw her sleeve.

She had a full sleeve of colourful, expertly-done tats on her left arm. A mixture of Japanese and Hawaiian-inspired art that managed to be feminine but also _bad ass_ at the same time. That same day she dropped her folder, bent down to pick it up and he saw her top ride up on her side, showing that whatever design she had on her arm extended down her ribcage as well.

Fucking hot.

She ignored him. All the nurses steered clear because he made them nervous, but this one made a _point_ of ignoring his ass, planted in her path as it was. He didn't hide that he was anything _but _ignoring her, and she just walked briskly past.

It was becoming a game. He was testing to see what it took before she finally looked right at him and said something, even if it _was _just "Fuck off!"

This time as she passed, he felt a grin as he said casually, "Work those Crocs, honey."

She scoffed, didn't so much as glance at him and kept on her way. He felt himself chuckle without noise, then leaned back to the wall again and crossed his arms to figure out what to say next, because her rounds would have her coming back this way again in a few minutes.

He checked his watch. Jamie would probably be done in twenty minutes. That was the good news. He tapped his foot, staring at the door again when he heard the rhythm of the nurse's stride coming back his way.

He looked up, let his eyes trail down her in a way he imagined she could _feel_. To his surprise she stopped, arms crossed, facing him.

Happy kept his face blank and slowly checked her out, working the toothpick, finally reaching her face. He couldn't read the expression _exactly,_ but she was probably mad.

"Really?" she said. Yeah, she was pissed.

"What?"

"You sit here and ogle me every day. What is that? Am I supposed to feel lucky?"

He felt a slow grin, but she just stared back, unaffected. He shook his head. "I can't sit here? Enjoy the view?"

She gave a humourless laugh. "What view?"

Happy removed the toothpick from his mouth. "You want the truth?"

She nodded.

"I like your walk, woman."

She stared at him. "What the hell does that mean?"

Happy got to his feet, and she didn't back down. That was an impressive fact too, and it didn't help the half-erection he already had just from her giving him lip like this. "We should get together some time. Alone."

"Like a date?" Her face indicated she preferred fingernail removal.

"I don't date," he informed her, putting the toothpick back in his mouth and putting his hands in his jeans' pockets.

"So what do you want?"

He gave pause, then stepped closer. She inhaled, and he caught it. It was a check in his "win" column and he let himself smile. "I want that body, woman."

She tilted her head. "You have got to be kidding me. Does that ever work?"

"You want references?" he asked with a waggle of eyebrows.

She laughed at that, a real laugh, a sound he felt in his dick. She seemed to regret doing it and covered her mouth but that smile stayed in her eyes. It was a good look, too.

"You're unbelievable," she mumbled.

"I think that's on my list of references, too."

Her look was coy now, and he was grinning. Shit, this was easier than he thought.

She leaned in a bit and he caught a sweet smell of something that had to be body lotion, as well as a breath mint. "Come on then," she said, eyes shining as she turned on her heel.

Happy surveyed the hallway in both directions, then followed nursey to a room marked "Janitor's Closet." Cliché, maybe. Did he care? Fuck no.

She closed the door behind him, and Hap leaned back against the huge industrial sink on one wall, arms crossed, toothpick hanging in the side of his mouth. "You got me where you want me, sweets. What now?"

She approached, pulled out the toothpick and tossed it. The next thing he knew she was yanking his hands away from his body and stepping into him chest to groin, warm and soft. Her lips came to his mouth and he didn't pause from shock. He kissed her back, his hands finding her lower back and reeling her hips into his, the softness of her belly making a fantastic friction where he was already hard.

She gasped into his mouth, her hand sliding down his chest and stomach, then she was rubbing him through his jeans. He grunted, keeping up the duelling tongues while giving her room. Her fingers deftly pulled at his fly, yanked down the zipper and reached inside, behind his shorts.

Jesus. He actually had a moment of stunned stillness as her grip tightened, and his balls jumped. He considered asking her to give him a minute because he had the urge to drop to his knees, yank those scrubs to her ankles and go down on her.

But this felt so fucking good he stayed right where he was.

"Is that good, baby?"

"Yeah," he grunted, head falling forward, his forehead resting on her collarbone. "Fuck, that's _real _good."

Her hand froze. "You know what I just realized?"

His eyes came open, and he was pissed that she'd stopped. "What?"

She leaned in close to his ear. "I actually prefer women."

On that note she let him go, turned and left the closet, leaving him there with his cock sticking out while his mouth hung open. Remembering where he was he stuffed himself back in his pants, wondering if this was something to pretend never happened. As the light died and the door shut he was grinning, returning to his post.

Damn. He liked that bitch even more now.


	4. Chapter 4

**HGRHfan35 wanted Jamie & Tig "Final Wisdom" smut, so I hope she likes this because that's all that's here! I'm blushing, actually.**

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Jamie had put Calvin to bed, said goodnight to Thelma, and was unpacking the clothes she wanted to hang up before turning in for Christmas Eve. When the bedroom door closed behind her, on its own or so it seemed, she spun around, hand to her heart. She had to laugh at her reaction. "Tig, what are you doing?"

He gave her that crazy, half-smirk grin and came towards her with a slinking gait that made her tummy flip a bit.

"Tig," she warned softly. "This is Thelma's house. What are you doing?"

"Thelma told me to sleep in here," he answered, voice low and not just out of consideration for the two bedrooms down the hall, a bathroom and a couple wall closets away from them. "I said I was good with the couch, but she gave me a _look_ and informed me she wasn't born yesterday."

Jamie had to giggle. "Oh God. That would be Aunt Thelma." She turned back to the suitcase to pull out the blouse she meant to wear for Christmas dinner the next day. "She's the one that told me to jump you, you know …" her voice trailed off as she found something hard, hidden underneath her underwear in the suitcase. "What in the world?" she tossed the pile of panties to the side as Tig's hands came to her hips, and as she saw what it was her heart froze and her stomach seized.

How the _hell _did her vibrator get in her suitcase?

"Anything wrong?" he asked behind her and she, in a fluster, tried to cover it back up while all the while knowing very damn well who had to have put it in there.

"No," she said, stupidly, immediately flushed and embarrassed.

He leaned around her, moved her underwear out of the way and grabbed her vibrator, as casual as he would an earring she'd dropped. "Well now, didn't really pack for a Silent Night, did you?"

She tried to grab it back, but he held it out of her reach.

"Jamie, how long have you had this?"

"Tig -"

"I noticed some of the letters on the controls are worn away."

"Tig, stop it," she hissed, embarrassed and closed to being annoyed with him.

"When'd you last use it?"

She fell silent, and he wrapped his arms around her and held up the control buttons. "What's this one do?" he mumbled, pressing it and causing the whole contraption to start vibrating with a loud buzz.

"Tig!" she gasped, trying to grab it and again, thwarted in her efforts a second time.

"What about this one?" He hit her favourite button, and the end started rotating. That really made her cheeks flare, and he growled into her ear, "Shit babe, I can't do _that_."

That made her laugh, but it was an embarrassed laugh. She felt a stupid need to explain. "The girls at the office gave it to me as a sort of … gag gift when I turned thirty. Some joke about being a spinster."

"Yeah? Did they also give you this?" he reached around her again, pulling out a zip-locked bag that looked like it held a pile of small-gauge chain.

Her stomach really dropped. That had been the funniest part of the gift, and she still had no idea why she kept it. "I, um … I -"

He was chuckling, dropping the vibrator and opening the bag. She was still trapped between his body, the bed and both arms. Her face was likely Santa-suit red. "Babe, you even know what these are?"

"I guessed," she whispered as he dangled the chain out full, the rubber-tipped clips on the three ends free.

"These are giving me all kinds of thoughts, honey," he growled, licking the skin behind her ear and making her shudder.

"Tig, I don't know why I kept that. I should have got rid of it."

"You kept it for me, babe. Because we're gonna try all this."

She struggled to get free. "We most definitely are _not_," she whispered. "My _aunt_ is down the hall."

"You better keep it down then," was his deep reply. So deep it tickled the inside of her bellybutton.

He dropped the clips, unbuttoned her jeans, pulled down her fly and slid his hand inside, touching her through her underwear, making her head loll back into his shoulder.

"We can't," was her weak argument.

"But it's Christmas," he said with a lot of that sexy, dirty humour in his tone.

She had the resilience of tissue paper when it came to physicality with Tig Trager. Jamie had no idea how the suitcase ended up in the floor or how she ended up naked. But there it was at her feet, along with her clothes, the room light was off and the nightlight in the corner at the foot of the bed was on.

"Just relax babe," he instructed, easing her into the sheets on her back. "This is gonna be good, I promise."

His lips and tongue blazed a hot trail down her body, worshipping at her scars as he usually did while his hand teased her nipple. That familiar jolt ran from her breast straight between her legs and she was writhing beneath him when he reached down to the floor and she heard the metal.

She grasped his face with both hands, gasping because she was both turned on and scared. "If it hurts -"

"I'll stop," was the immediate answer, followed by a hard, hot kiss with enough tongue that made her forget she was scared.

His head lowered to her breast again, his mouth pulling at her nipple with his tongue teasing at the tip. When she was whimpering his hand moved to her chest, and while her eyes were closed in preparation she felt an overwhelming surge of heat that went supernova from nipple to the spot between her legs. She opened her eyes, looked down, and sure enough, one of the clamps were closed over that tip. Just the sight of it made her blood speed up.

Tig was watching her face, and he came back up for a kiss. "How's that?"

"I don't know," she breathed. "It's so intense."

He lowered his head and licked the tip and her back bowed from it. His chuckle didn't help, either. "Yeah, it's good," he deduced.

He kept moving down her body, pressing kisses to stomach, and as he brought one of the other clamps with him the chain pulled at her nipple just slightly. It didn't hurt. She was biting her lip, squirming, and trying to keep quiet. When he pushed her knees apart and lowered his head she was breathing hard. The touch of his tongue on her clit was incredible, since all her sexual tension was being sent from her nipple to that very spot. She understood this contraption perfectly, even before he fixed the second clamp in place.

Jamie moaned in the back of her throat, just the feeling of pressure on both spots as she fell completely still enough to cause sweat to break out on her skin. Tig licked her clit again and she nearly climaxed right then.

"See, this one goes on the other nipple," he was explaining, bringing the third clip to where her left breast would be. The movement had her writhing her legs and whimpering, too lost to lament her missing breast. Her head was swimming, but he continued on like she wasn't about to have a stroke from frustration. "So once the chains are taut, all I have to do is," and he didn't finish. He plucked at the spot where all three lengths of chain connected like a guitar string and Jamie would have woke the household if his other hand didn't drop the unused clip and cover her mouth.

"And I can make you come without touching you," he finished, eyes bright on hers before he took his hand away.

"Holy shit," she whispered, and he grinned.

"Now for the best part," he mumbled, reaching down again and picking up the other part of her "gag" gift. Jamie watched, feeling the spasm between her legs in anticipation. He pushed one button and the buzzing started, and without much finesse he slid it into her. She was wet, it wasn't difficult. And since he was _male _he could be forgiven for just plunging it in like that. He activated the clit-tickler (honest to God the thought of the name was embarrassing) and made sure it contacted the clip.

Too much. It was all too much, but she was comfortable enough with him that when she closed her eyes and let herself go the build was fast and immediate, even before he activated the third threat of the vibrator; the oscillating head.

His tongue hit her nipple. The vibrator's tip swept across that pleasure-pressure point and she was done, shaking – no, convulsing - as the orgasm hit her like a freight train. His hand covered her mouth again, the vibrator still inside even though he'd let it go, but it was doing its job just fine.

"Shit," she gasped once it had worked its way through, turning her face towards Tig. "The first time you kissed me."

He looked confused, even if he was still smiling. "What?"

"The last time I used the vibrator. The night you kissed me, Calvin's birthday party."

He growled, kissing her deep, rubbing her nipple again, making her cry out against his mouth.

"Thanks for showing me how those work," she went on, studing the look in his eyes that was the impossible mixture of heat and affection.

He grinned again suddenly, rose up to one elbow and pulled the vibrator clear, then got up and started taking his pants off. Impossibly, that made her more excited. She moved to take off the nipple clip but he snapped, on a whisper, "Not yet."

"Why?"

"Don't make me clue you in, woman."

She had to smile. "How would you do that?"

He climbed back into bed, bridged over her on all fours. "I'd stop," was his answer, which made her quake again. He caught both hands, pulled them over her head. It pulled on the nipple clip and she gasped. When his weight hit her, everything was … _activated_. His body found its way into her smoothly and she moaned, then when he made contact with the clip she nearly panicked.

No, this was too much. She couldn't take it. She was going to have a heart attack. He slid out and in again, even the feeling of chest hair on her nipple nearly made her scream.

"Wait," she gasped, and he stilled. "It's too much. I just want you, honey."

His grin was brilliant. "All right sweetheart," he answered lazily, then unclipped her nipple and clit, tossing it back to her suitcase. "But I'm fixing that so it fits you specially."

That caused another quiver, which he felt, and when he was back in her arms again, gliding in and out smoothly, her entire body sighed while also finding a new level of arousal. A hot, intense one that also managed to be sweet. It must have been the languid, unhurried kisses and warm eye contact.

"All I need is you too, babe," he muttered softly against the skin of her neck, everything about him making her eyes close.

For her anyway, Tig Trager was actually better than a vibrator.


	5. Chapter 5

**The next request was for a happier Juice story. Where he wasn't getting pushed around. I thought it would be easier than it actually was. After all the Juice-turmoil this season I found it a little difficult to write this without _any _darkness to him, but I hope this will still make 'ya happy, go4itgirl!**

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Head pounding from the bender tied on at SAMCRO's clubhouse the night before, Juice headed out to the location of Gemma's note, eyes peeled for a vehicle pulled over with the hazards blinking.

She stood out, that was his first thought. And he wasn't assigning the "she" pronoun to the red Cadillac she was standing next to. The driver was leaning against the rear quarter panel, on her cell. Her sunglasses were up on her head, holding back a thick fall of walnut-coloured hair. She was dressed in white short jeans, whatever they were called, and a baby blue shirt of a style he always thought looked like a stingray. Big, open hanging sleeves, and wide neck that slung down over an olive-toned shoulder as she swung her arm around, animated in her conversation.

He pulled over in front of the Caddy, backing up to get close, then got out and approached the open hood to see if a tow was even needed.

Something had bounced up into the grill, he could see that. The rad had a hole punched in it, there was water on the road, and the steam that was now dispersed had condensed on the inside of the hood. Hard to tell how badly the engine had overheated. If she'd kept driving it was hard to tell how much damage had been done until they got it back to the shop.

Juice waited on the side of the road while she wrapped up with the person on the phone. "Look, the tow guy's here. I gotta go." She spared him a quick glance, then looked away again at her feet. "I know. I can't talk, he's standing right here. I'll call later."

He was used to being talked about like he wasn't able to hear it. It was the way of civilians when he wearing his SAMCRO kutte, and even without it he was just the grease monkey people only needed when their shit broke down.

"How bad is it?" she asked, turning to him with her arms crossed.

"I have to get it back to the shop to see if the overheating caused damage."

"You can't tell if I just start it up?"

Juice smiled, taking the chance to give _her _a bit of attitude. "New vehicles need to be hooked up to computers so we can find out what's wrong. Chances are your dash was half lit up, what did you think that was all about?"

Then he turned back to the truck, climbed in the driver's side and reversed until he was close enough to hitch the Caddy up. He made quick work of that then jerked his head to the truck. "You gotta ride up front with me."

Her distaste was obvious. "I can't just … ride in the car?"

"That's against safety regulations," he informed her, then borrowed a line from Tig Trager. "How up front, babe. I only bite if you ask."

He fired up the truck as she climbed in the passenger seat, and didn't hide his amusement over her high-heeled sandals.

"What's so funny?" she snapped.

He shook his head as he pulled a U-turn and headed back to Charming. "Nothing," he assured her.

"I didn't dress to have my car break down," she informed him. "That was an unexpected development in my day. So go ahead and laugh it up. I'm glad I could amuse you. Tell all your friends how stupid this girl is as you enjoy your enchiladas."

Juice felt his eyebrows go up, and he successfully bit back his first retort that came to mind. Instead he said, "I'm Puerto Rican, for the record. So for lunch today I'll be enjoying pastelón, bitch."

He didn't know where the anger came from, but right from the moment she saw him he'd been hired help. He didn't know why it bothered him in this case, but it did.

"I …" she almost breathed it, then let it trail off so he decided to ignore her. "I can't believe I just said that. I swear, I open my mouth and my father comes out."

He rolled his eyes, signalling for a left-hand turn.

"I really _am _sorry. I'm … going through some things."

Again he stayed silent. Thankfully she shut it for the rest of the drive, and he stopped next to the office once he was back on TM. "Go see Gemma in the office," he muttered, putting the transmission in park and waiting for her to climb out. Before she shut the door she pushed her sunglasses back up, and he only saw it because he was waiting for her to close the door. She had nice eyes, he realized. Large, dark brown. Long eyelashes, probably not real. But whatever.

"I really am sorry," she told him, her lip even shaking a bit before she clamped down on it with her upper teeth. Then she shut the door and crossed in front of the truck. He watched long enough to track her cute ass as she pushed through the office door, then he pulled the truck forward to add her Caddy to the queue.

…

By the time TM was wrapping up its half-day work Saturday, Juice was actually feeling bad for dismissing the chick with the Caddy. She obviously had shit going on, and he'd just … well, overlooked her like she had done to him.

He stood to the side while Chibs and Tig closed the garage bays, watching Gemma across the way as she likewise locked up the office.

Gemma was in shouting distance when Tig and Chibs lit cigarettes, and Juice jerked his head to the Caddy. "It needs a new rad tank. Where'd the girl go?"

Immediately Tig perked up. "What girl?"

"She asked me for the nearest hotel. I told her about the Sandman. Said we could give her a ride but she wanted to walk." Gemma answered, her look at Juice far too curious.

Juice frowned. "In _those _heels?" It was quiet and he noticed Tig and Chibs' blank looks, directed at him. "What?"

"You know how fucking gay that sounded?" Tig quipped.

Chibs chuckled.

Gemma rolled her eyes and patted his cheek. "Never mind them, sweetheart. If you're that … _worried_," her face indicated she didn't believe it for a second, "go look for her. She just left about twenty minutes ago. Only left when we found out we had to order a part."

"She hot, Gem?" Tig wanted to know.

"Of all the people to miss seeing her," Chibs mumbled.

"You saw her?" Chibs just nodded to answer Tig's question. "Shit, I bet she was hot."

On cue a clap of thunder rocked the sky over them, and they all looked up like the expected to _see _it. "Lovely," Gemma muttered. "Rainy afternoon. Looks like it's laundry day."

"You need help sorting those delicates, doll, you let me know," Tig shouted as she strode to her Escalade. She flipped him off, making him cackle.

"Better get home before the rain," Juice mumbled, heading for his Dyna.

"Let us know how it goes, Juicey!" Chibs yelled after him. He left those two chuckling about their own wit and pulled his lid on, kicking the bike to life. He was pulling off the TM blacktop when the sky opened up, and he grimaced in annoyance. Riding in the rain was uncomfortable as well as dangerous.

Then he saw her; five minutes' ride from TM, trudging along on bare feet, holding her shoes in her hand. He felt a pang of pity, then pulled over next to her. The noise of the bike caught her attention, and she stopped, shoes clutched to her chest before she recognized him.

"Get on," he said, voice raised over the rain and bike.

She shook her head. "I can see the hotel, it's fine."

"Get on," he repeated, not about to let her walk in the rain.

She sighed, looked up and down the street, then at her feet and the wet concrete she was standing on.

"It's no trouble," he told her, and that made up her mind.

She grasped the leather seams of his kutte as she swung on behind him. He took off from the curb, going slow when he really wanted to show off. For _some _reason.

Within minutes he was pulling to s stop in front of the Sandman's office. She climbed off the bike and ran to the safety and dryness of inside. He followed. He wanted to make sure she was okay. Plus, maybe the rain would stop while they were inside. Or whatever.

She paid for two nights' stay since the garage wouldn't be open Sunday, then he stood there awkwardly while she tried to thank him.

"Don't worry about it," he finally said. "And … I'm sorry I gave you a hard time. You were having a shitty day without me making it worse."

She looked away from him, down at her hands again, and he wondered what made her so damn apprehensive. "Well," she suddenly said. "I bet you have to get back to work."

"I'm off, actually. But, I'll let you get some rest. Dry off." Then he clued in. "Ah, shit. Did you have a bag in your car?"

She shook her head. "No, I ran with only what I was wearing." Then she realized her word choice. "I mean, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

Juice frowned. "Is everything okay?"

She shrugged. "It will be. I'm headed for a friend's place up in Oregon. She's letting me stay with her, helping me find work."

Juice nodded. "Sounds like a good friend."

"She is." The young woman smiled, and Juice had to smile back. "Listen, I know it's early, but you've been so nice. Can I ... get you a beer?"

With any other woman he'd think it was a come-on. With her, he had no clue.

"Umm, sure," he said, not sure where it was coming from.

She looked down at herself, then laughed. "I'm soaking wet. You are, too."

He laughed with her. "Yeah. We might ruin the upholstery of any fine, licensed establishment in this thriving town."

"Maybe we should just get a bottle of Jack and take it to my room."

Okay, _that _was a come on. He blinked and considered it for two seconds. "I'll stop by the off-sale."

She nodded, turned and headed for the door, leaving him staring at the door. Then he convinced his feet to move and followed, stopping first at the hotel's off-sale as promised. He got the JD, since that's what she requested, and also stopped by the pop machine in the office and got a couple sodas. He had no idea if she mixed.

He knew which room she was in, he was standing there when the desk clerk gave her the key. He knocked at the right door, then waited for her to answer.

What the hell was he doing?

Before he came up with any logical answers she was opening the door, her hair in a towel. He could see the white bra under the tank she must have had on underneath the blue shirt, which was gone.

"I didn't know I was freezing until I got inside," she muttered, grabbing the Jack and moving away from the door. He stepped into the room, shut the door and shrugged out of his kutte. He heard a familiar sound as the cap from the JD hit the wood-veneer top of the dressed, and she poured herself about three fingers in the hotel-issue tumbler then shot half of it back immediately.

Then she poured him one, handed it to him and stared at him as he took a long healthy pull on his serving.

"I was only rude to you because I thought you were attractive," she told him, making the rest of the JD in her glass disappear.

His eyebrows went high.

"I was engaged. I was supposed to be getting married in two weeks. And I just walked away from it all. I figured if I was rude you'd tell me to fuck off and then I wouldn't be … tempted."

Juice drained the glass, setting it down and leaning his ass against the dresser. "Why aren't you getting married?"

She bit her lip, looked down at her empty glass then set it next to his. "I don't want to talk about it."

He shrugged. "So what _do _you want then?"

She was still staring at him, trying to make up her mind. He poured her another smaller helping of Jack and handed it over. She downed that too, and as she caught her breath from the burn she said, "Take your shirt off."

This wasn't him. He wasn't bold, he didn't _take what he wanted_ from women like some of the other guys. He got laid no problem but usually the women were all over him, not the other way around. But he didn't know her from a hole in the ground so he flipped his personality. "You first."

She looked a bit surprised, then put the glass down and yanked up on the tank top. The bra may have been padded, but that didn't mean she didn't have a full house.

"All of it," he added.

She reached behind her back and undid her bra. She let the straps slide down her arms, her skin goose-pimpled because it was still cold form the rain, then she pulled the cups off her breasts. _That _made parts of him take notice. Her nipples were peaked, again from the rain, and overall her body was … fantastic. What he could see, anyway.

He pulled his T-shirt off over his head, watching her face as she ran her eyes over the ink on his torso. She stepped close, working her way in between his knees to stand close enough that her nipples brushed his skin. He fought back on the urge to make a sound.

Her hands pressed to the pads of muscle on his chest. She was breathing through her mouth, her cheeks were turning pinker. He reached up to pull the towel from her hair, letting it down in black, wet waves. When he was bringing his arms down she kissed him, carefully, like she was hedging her bets.

Again, with a croweater, he'd just let her drop to her knees and get to work. But he didn't feel like being himself with this one. So he wound his hand up in that wet hair, tight to the back of her head, and tilted her face to kiss her deeper. She moaned, his erection kicked. Her skin on his was cold, but she felt soft. And she smelled _really _good.

When her hands went to his belt he backed away to give her room. Now she was panting between parted lips, eyes on his body as she worked to get the leather out of the loops and his fly down. He used one hand to open the fly of her pants, keeping her hair in his hand.

Her hand was freezing as it closed around that hot length of sexual _want_, and he caught his breath momentarily as the contact was made. She slid her palm up and then down it, and now it was _his _turn to breathe hard.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," she whispered, and he caught her gaze again. It was hot, desperate eye contact, and he took the chance to continue on with his _non-Juice _behaviour.

He let go of her, reaching for the kutte. He always had condoms, all the guys did. It was alarmingly easy for a guy in MC leathers to get laid. She watched, licking her lips as he fixed the rubber in place. Then he barked, "Take off your pants."

She did. She shoved them down to her ankles and was struggling to get her feet free. This brand new, _not-Juice_ didn't have the patience for that. He grabbed her upper arms, spun her towards the dresser and shoved her hips against it.

He liked how she panted; startled, a little nervous, but still turned on.

Juice caught her eye in the reflection, and he was staring at her when he thrust inside. _That _part of her may have been wet like her skin but it was warm, so perfectly fucking warm. He liked how her mouth fell open with a grunt, her eyes rolling back a bit. He let his eyes trail down her back to her round, firm, heart-shaped ass, watching as he pulled free then slammed his cock back into her.

"Jesus," she whimpered.

"That good?"

"So good," she answered immediately, and again this spoke to his _non-Juice_ persona.

He grabbed her by the hair, wrapping it around his hand and cranking her neck back. She cried out, but only half with pain because he was slamming into her again.

"What's your name?" he growled.

"Lana," she answered immediately.

"You like getting fucked by strangers, Lana?"

"No," she admitted, eyes wide and bright, looking at their reflection the best she could.

"What am I then?"

"I know your name," she panted. "The woman at the garage called you Juice."

"Knowing my _name _makes me not a stranger?" he responded, incredulous. He had stilled, and she shoved her ass back against him with a sound of encouragement.

"You're a stranger," she admitted, nudging back more.

"You're an idiot," he told her.

"I know," was her breathy answered.

There was a moment while he stared at her eyes in the reflection of the mirror, then he shook his head, grabbed her hips and thrust into her repeatedly. She got off on it within minutes; her insides clamped tight around him, the vibrations matching the loud sounds of release she was making. When she was done, that's when he got serious.

Juice never did it rough, as a rule. He was the goofy, cuddly one. But this woman had mistaken him for some Mexican grease monkey then basically begged him to fuck her. So, being the nice guy he was, he gave her exactly what she wanted.

She came a second time through no efforts of his, and as she finished he felt his own build-up hit the breaking point, a hot flood of relief rushing all the way up to the back of his head. He planted as deep as he could, hearing her make a slightly pained sound, but he didn't pull back until the shaking stopped.

When he pulled free of her and yanked the condom off he half expected her to wise up, wonder what the hell she'd done and tell him to get out. But when he left the brightness of the bathroom she was climbing into bed naked, smiling at him in a familiar way, and patting the cover. "Let's order pizza and get to know each other," she suggested.

He knew he was staring, but as her smile stayed put and he decided it was the real deal he had to smile back. "Sure," he said, dropping his jeans. "That sounds good."


	6. Chapter 6

**I think the prize for Most Difficult Request has to go to wishuy. She wanted a little smut, and when I asked _who _she gave me hell of a challenge. **

**Jax and Tara.**

**Oy! I hope you like this dear because it was pretty difficult to do with the horrific season six ending and all. Enjoy!**

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"How much longer until midnight?" Tara leaned back, whispering over her shoulder. Jax brought his face close enough to kiss, that too-charming grin the first thing to grab her attention, as always.

His arms tightened around her stomach as he kissed her neck from behind. "Fifteen minutes until a whole new year, baby."

She grinned, relaxing into his hold. Everything was perfect again. Her husband was home with her, their sons were healthy and under the watchful eye of Neeta, and it was the start of a new year.

Life was good.

"How long does the president have to stick around for festivities?" she asked slyly, pressing her butt into his groin to make a point.

His eye brows rose and his grin broadened. "Is my wife drunk?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "She might be … _happy._"

"Well, if she's happy there's no need to delay," he mumbled low and gruff, close to her ear. That tone made something inside her quiver, just like it always did. He had that effect on her since she was a teenager.

He moved forward, walking her the way he wanted her to go. To her surprise it wasn't down the hallway towards his dorm. He manoeuvred her through the crush of loud, intoxicated and somewhat ferocious bikers that she was beginning to see as family. They mostly ignored her and Jax. There were girls on stripper poles to ogle after all, and copious amounts of booze that needed drinking.

When they hit the fresh air outside he let her ease out of his grip, and she turned, eyes wide. "Where are we going?" she started to ask, but his mouth touching hers stopped her thoughts.

She sighed, softening into his hold, barely aware he was walking her backwards. She had always loved kissing, and kissing Jax Teller had always been one of her favourite pastimes. From the first time he'd done it, standing at the end of her mom's driveway next to his bike (which her mom hated) while her mother was staring out the living room window (because her mom hated that she was out with _him_). He kissed her anyway, and from that moment she didn't stand a chance.

She was his.

A brick wall hit her back, and that was when she pulled back to look at him. "Jackson," she murmured, trying to ignore the way her heart tripped when she saw the fire in his eyes. "What are you doing?" He answered by squeezing a butt cheek with one hand, then pulling her leg up to his hip. He kept his eyes on hers as her face grew warm. "Jax," she whispered again, with a tamped-down chuckle as he pressed his lips to her neck.

"Shhh," he mumbled, easing back and smiling down on her again. "Been wanting to do this since you put this skirt on."

One last kiss before he dropped to his knees in front of her. "Jax," she gasped, pushing down on his hands as he slid the skirt's hem up her thighs. "We can't do this here."

But her heart was racing and her efforts to stop him were weak. His rough hands pushing her thighs further apart made her breathing come harder, and when she felt him ease her panties away she knew the fight was lost.

Jackson Teller had been the first person (other than herself) to give her an orgasm. He'd gone down on her in his bedroom while his mom was out, and she still remembered it with a heart fluctuation. She knew she wasn't his first, that never had mattered. But he'd been her first everything, and she was one of those lucky girls whose first was also the best she ever had.

With a familiarity born of not only a long relationship but an honest, caring exchange of her physical preferences he had her gasping with just tongue and lips, gripping his shoulders as the warm sensations washed over her, nearly buckling her knees. She bit her lip to avoid making noise and once the initial surge ended she was gasping. While her head swam he pulled off her underwear, and she was vaguely aware that he stuffed it into his back pocket.

"Jax," she whispered again, meaning it to sound like she wasn't interested in more but it was a desperate gasp instead. He responded by kissing her hard, cutting off her ability to protest. Without a thought her hands ran to his belt buckle where he was already working his pants open. She helped as much as she could, then held his shoulders as his hands hefted her up by her thighs.

She pressed her legs tight to his hips, arms wound round his shoulders and staring into his eyes as he joined their bodies on a smooth thrust. Her eyes closed, and she enjoyed a moment of holding him inside.

As always, the best she'd ever had.

He pressed kisses to her neck, his beard and moustache scraping her skin in a delicious way, his body gliding in and out with one hand coming to her breast so his thumb could slide over her nipple, under her shirt but over her bra.

Yes, they were familiar with each other. He'd always been hungry for her, but unlike the other men she'd been with he took the time to figure her out and listen to what she wanted. The other men in her life took instruction like a blow to the ego. Jax took it as enthusiasm, which it was.

"Faster," she whispered, turned on and terrified by the fact that anyone could round the corner of the clubhouse and catch them.

He braced a free hand on the wall and leaned away so she could tilt her hips while also giving him room to move. And he did as asked, pace increasing frantically, the grunt in the back of his throat as good as a nipple tweak. She put her hand next to his and he took the chance to link her fingers in his, pinning her hand to the wall. As always, it was eye contact with the love of her life that finished her.

Her head cranked back against the wall, a lady-like bellow sounding from deep in her body, and a second, _better _climax hit her like a tidal wave of exquisite relief. Jax stilled; he liked to ride it out when she came, watching her. She liked that he did that, too.

Before she was through it he shoved himself fully against her, curling his hips, riding her deep for a few thrusts before his fingers bit into her hip and he muffled a moan against her throat. Her free hand came to his hair, playing with it lazily as she felt a smile.

"Darlin'," he murmured, pulling back to kiss her sweet.

"I love you," she said against his lips.

"I love you too," he replied immediately.

More warm eye contact while they both smiled, then before he could ease out of her a loud crack sounded overhead and they both jumped.

"Jesus!" she muttered, heart restarted with alarm.

Jax craned his neck back as the sky lit up with a bright blaze of gold and red. He was smiling when he looked back to her. "Some people _kiss_ at midnight," he remarked with a raised eyebrow.

She laughed, pushing her face into his shoulder as a crowd of people in front of the clubhouse cheered the fireworks as another bloom of fire and colour streaked the sky.

Tara and Jax were giggling as they set their clothes right, he helped her back into her underwear and they tried to look _normal._

"Wait," he whispered, pulling her back to his front and wrapping her up in a hug. She stilled, and they both cast their gaze upward as the fireworks show continued.

It was beautiful. She was bathed in afterglow. And to top it off Jax whispered in her ear, "Whole new year, babe. I'm gonna make it a good one, I swear."

She smiled, eyes closed and patted his cheek over her shoulder. "I know," she whispered back.


	7. Chapter 7

**MRsProfile wanted a Chibs story, and I couldn't help myself. I tapped back into Valerie Turner's AU. but from our favourite Scott's POV. Consider it a one-shot update for the holidays. ;)**

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"What's with this racket?" Fillip Telford whispered, leaning over the bars of the crib. His daughter was already reaching, arms raised, large tears rolling down her cheeks. She stopped wailing but the lip was out, face red, and her mousey-brown baby hair was stuck out all around her. Except around her face, where it was stuck to _her_.

He settled her against his chest, cooing and _tutting _her when she started to yowl again. She was bundled in a fleece onsie, and she was like a little oven against him. He eased back to smile down on her. "I think you're feeling better, aren't you love?"

She wiped at both eyes with chubby fists, the stubborn scowl on her face not lifting.

High temperatures the entire day before, a crying and miserable baby who finally fell asleep about five hours ago, and his wife had been passed out, dead to the world when his little one woke up crying _again_. But as warm as she was, this was nothing. The fever had broken, Nika was fine.

He kissed the top of her head, carried her to the changing table and laid her on her back. She started to make noises again and he shushed her, finger circling her belly. "Enough of that," he quipped, still smiling. "Momma's sleeping. You keep it down."

Her hands came up to try and grab him but he was unbuttoning the sleeper, struggling to get it off her wiggling and bloody wide awake body. Her diaper was still dry, he suspected this winter-weight onsie was to blame for her crankiness. "We'll get you in something lighter," he promised, and she babbled back, face still wet with tears but crying forgotten now.

She always stopped crying once dad was awake and coddling her. He knew he was being played now and honestly didn't really give a shit.

He changed out the sleeper for a lighter cotton one, fastened all the snaps and picked her up again, smiling as her baby babbles turned into sighs. "You hungry too love?" he whispered, leaving the nursery and flicking the light off behind him.

He prepped a bottle, bouncing her on his hip while he waited for the formula to warm up, then started down the hall, intending to feed her in the nursery's rocking chair. But then he saw the light on in the master bedroom and continued past Nika's and Mickey's room.

His wife was sitting up, and she smiled as soon as she saw them. "Fever broke?" Val guessed, and he nodded.

"She's fine. I think that sleeper was too warm."

"I can take her," Val offered, arms up.

He shook his head. "Forget it. I want to cuddle my girl." On that he slid into his side of the bed and leaned back against the headboard, Nika across his chest, helping him hold the bottle while she drank. Her big, green eyes rolled all over the room, and when Val leaned into his arm to peer down at her Nika saw Momma and her legs started kicking.

Val chuckled. "Remember when Mickey used to do that?" she mumbled, catching Nika's foot and tickling the bottom, prompting more kicking.

"Aye," he replied, smiling over to the woman he loved more than life itself. She smiled back and it was still like a boot to the head for him.

Being attracted to a woman was one thing. Pining for her while she dealt with the loss of her man who happened to be your friend was one thing. Actually _having _her for his wife was a world he couldn't have imagined even while the other two _things _were going on.

"I am so fucking tired," she whispered, not exactly breaking the spell he had running through his head but making him laugh instead of lean over to kiss her. "This is it, right? Just this baby and I can shut the factory down."

"Not on your life," he joked. "We keep trying until we get another boy."

Her reaction was dramatic horror. "That never works out for _anyone_."

He kissed her forehead as she snuggled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's just tempting fate," she whispered. "We have two perfect kids, you have a lovely daughter. That's more than enough. More than most people get."

"Aye," he agreed, something catching in his throat and he kissed her head again.

Their bedroom door eased open further, and the both looked up to see Mickey, six years old now, rubbing his eyes with one hand on the doorknob.

"Mickey, why aren't you in bed?" Val asked softly, sitting up.

"I had a bad dream," he mumbled, and they shared a look.

There had been a spell where he could only fall sleep with _them _and that had taken months to break. "Mickey," Val said. "You want me to show you there's nothing in your room to be scared of?"

He shook his head and came forward. "I really had a bad dream, Mom."

Val pushed his dark, thick hair off his forehead. "Are you sure you're just not excited to open your gifts?"

He was busted and he grinned to prove it. It made Chibs laugh; even if Mickey never met his father there were uncanny parts to Mickey that not only proved parenthood, but proved what personality could come out of DNA. Tig would always grin when he was busted, too.

"Come here," Val sighed, and Mickey climbed into bed, cuddling into his mother's chest as she pulled the blankets up over both of them.

"You can't make a habit of this, Mickey," Chibs reminded him, as kind as he could.

"I know, Uncle Chibs," Mickey replied, smiling up at him. "But Nika's here."

Chibs tilted his head. "Nika's a baby and she was sick, you know that."

Mickey brought his face down, looking away, and Val snuggled him tight with both arms. "We love you, baby," she whispered into his hair. "You're getting a bit big for this, that's all."

"Okay," he agreed, closing his eyes.

The four of them quietly lounged in bed, the glow of the bedside lamp getting a close and cosy tone. It wasn't really a surprise when Kerrianne appeared at their door too in jeans and T-shirt.

Fillip checked the clock. "Jaysus, are you just getting home now?"

His daughter rolled her dark eyes and came into the bedroom, throwing herself across the foot of the bed. "Da," she moaned. "I'm twenty-two, you remember that, right?"

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

"I don't work tomorrow," she whined back, eyes wide. He somewhat lamented the moment she started standing up for herself and voicing her opinion. She was once so quiet and agreeable.

"Did you have fun?" Val asked, diffusing the situation with one simple question.

Kerrianne grinned broadly. "A lot of fun. He's really nice. Almost a gentleman." She added with a pointed look at her father.

It didn't matter what he had done in his past or where he was at now; he believed his daughter deserved better than the likes of her father. Her dating Rat Boy was killing him, but at least the kid was smart enough not to talk about it or try to buddy up to Chibs just on that alone.

Still chafed his ass, though.

"Just remember to use protection," he muttered.

"Fillip!" Val gasped, pulling out the proper first name for added shame.

He had to grin at her. "Look, you two can gang up on me all you want. Doesn't change anything." His eyes went down to Nika, still starting up at him. At his gaze she grinned around the bottle's nipple. "That's right," he told her. "No matter what, _you're _on my side, aren't you love?"

"I'll be on your side!" Mickey chimed in and Chibs had to chuckle.

"There. Yes, we men stick together, never forget that."

Val shook her head. "Once Nika's dating you'll be outnumbered, Telford."

He tightened his grip on the baby in horror. "She's never dating. I decided that weeks ago."

Kerrianne got to her feet. "Bottle's almost done," she noted, clever to deflect from her date further. She stood next to him, arms out. "I'll put her down, Da."

He kissed Nika's baby hair one more time then handed her over. She didn't so much as squeak as Kerrianne took the bottle and held her to her chest. She just dropped her head to her half-sister's shoulder and sighed.

"Come on Mickey," Kerrianne called, heading for the door. "Saint Nick doesn't come unless you're actually asleep."

Val kissed her son, and he crawled over the covers so Chibs could do the same. Then he followed Kerrianne, closing the bedroom door behind them.

Val yawned, leaning over him to turn off the lamp. "I am so bloody – oof!"

That sound came because he grabbed her before she got anywhere near the lamp, rolling her to her back. She was giggling quietly as he ran his hands up under her nightshirt. That bare, soft skin had him hard in an instant. "I just want to open _one _present before I let you go back to sleep," he grumbled in her ear.

She gasped, soft and sweet as his hand curled around her breast, thumb stroking at her nipple, which hardened immediately. "Fillip," she whispered as he brought his mouth to her throat.

He had to smile into her skin. Years later and she still had the same reaction to him he had to her. This woman could get him tied up in knots and make his day all at the same time. "Do I get my present?"

She answered by grabbing his head with both hands and kissing him. While her tongue slid into his mouth, hot and possessive, he lowered his hand from her breast and tucked it inside her underwear. Her thighs parted to give him room, and as he slid two fingers downward her back arched and she moaned into his mouth.

"Jaysus," he mumbled against her lips, pulling back to look into her eyes. Startling green, they were darker and heated in a way he felt right at the tip of his cock. "Fuck Val, at least make me work to get you this wet."

She grinned, pushing him away and swinging a thigh over his lap to straddle him. "I can't help it," she whispered, kissing slower and sweeter now. "Seeing you be a good father does it for me."

He raised his eyebrows, hands running around to cup her ass. "Unresolved daddy issues then?"

She pulled the nightshirt off and his eyes ran down over her torso. He didn't know how it was possible but she remained as gorgeous through two kids, being shot, losing a lover and being horrifically violated not once but twice.

Still so fucking hot it burned.

"Not Daddy issues," she told him, licking at his bottom lip. "Just … _you _as a father. It's sexy."

He grinned, hands tightening on her cheeks, making her hips roll, bringing his eyes down over her breasts, stomach, to the front of her underwear where she was grinding down on him over the flannel pyjama pants. "Fuck me but I'm lucky," he muttered, letting her take his mouth again.

He absolutely loved his wife.


	8. Chapter 8

**otte1978 wanted a Happy one-shot, so this one's for her. I couldn't get the juices flowing on Happy being a hostage of the Chinese, so I kinda did my own thing. I hope you like it!**

* * *

She was in the shower, so Hap took his pack of cigarettes to the small kitchenette and lit one, letting the smoke out into the dimly lit, open-concept closet of a house he was in.

He didn't know this girl. Knew she went by Shelly, but that was it. She'd come with a friend to a SAMCRO party one night, looking for a little wild life. He intrigued her like a foreign species of insect intrigued people. He fucked her, it was good, he found out where she lived and when he felt like it he stopped by.

Shelly was his only booty call. With all the available snatch at the club he didn't need a rotation to visit; they came to _him_. But he found himself here when he was craving fresher air, clean sheets, and a girl that didn't already smell like cum.

She was also the only one he was allowing to sleep next to him, come to think of it. But since she made him breakfast in the morning too he could put up with a bit of cuddling in the meantime. Actually, waking up with someone's hand on your arm or head on your chest was … _nice_.

He was using her, and she knew it. He knew it. He didn't stop coming over, though.

He crossed from the kitchen to the living room, staring out the giant picture window at the front yard as well as the yard and house across the street. She lived in a decent neighbourhood, which made him wonder what the hell she did for a living and what the fuck she was doing letting the likes of him in her house. Then he reminded himself he didn't really give a shit.

This was a small house, though. One bedroom and a "nursery" sized room which she used for a home office. This living room housed a TV on a stand, a corner cabinet with knick knacks and shit on display, a couch, armchair and coffee table and it was _cramped _with just that. A half-wall by the entry split the room and made it seem smaller. The kitchen was a short stretch with cabinets on both sides, no windows, and barely enough room for a four-seater round table.

Chicks always crammed so much shit into their houses.

He had that thought in his head as he heard a pitiful but still loud yelp, issuing through the single-pane glass windows. He frowned, head cocked, and when the sound came again he got curious. He slouched down on the sofa and grabbed his boots, still sitting where they had been the night before, yanked them on and opened the front door, exhaling another plume of smoke.

The yelp was coming from his immediate left, close. Happy pulled the cigarette from his mouth and trotted down the three concrete steps to the yard, eyes on the neighbour's house. Immediately his stomach curled, causing his upper lip to do the same thing.

The neighbour, who Hap had never seem before, was dragging a dog by its collar to a stake in the front yard. Hap could see the chain and collar already attached to the stake, remembering the sound of that fucking dog barking until all hours the night before. Seeing the dog now he felt sick.

It was a pitbull, brown with red and white markings. And it was terrified. It had all four legs on lock-down, clearly not wanting to be tied up in the front yard. And it was no wonder; it was summer in California and before noon it was already nearing the 95-degree mark. There was no shade in that yard, and if this prick left the dog any water Happy would be surprised.

His hands tightened. This pissed him off.

The guy cursed at the dog, turned to it and gave a vicious kick to the dog's ribs which caused the animal to make that same terrible yelp.

Before he knew what he was doing he crossed Shelly's driveway and walked right on the guy's lawn. His footsteps on the hard-packed dirt got the asshole's attention, and when he straightened up Hap supposed he was meant to be intimidated.

The guy was big, no doubt about it. Probably about six-three, shoulders like a line backer. All lean, black and white tribal art running up both arms. His hair was black, to his elbows almost, skin dark and tanned like he worked outside. And the fucker was carrying Hap's weight in straight shredded muscle.

Happy didn't care. This guy wasn't tough.

"Kick that dog again," Hap growled as a dare, stopping a few feet from the guy and taking another pull on his cigarette.

"Fuck off," the guy snapped back. "And get the fuck out of my yard."

Hap shook his head. "Nah man. I'm with the ASPCA."

The guy laughed at that. "You're shitting me."

"Where's the shade and water for that dog? If you're tying it up out here today?"

Now the guy seemed to be debating if he was full of shit or not.

"110 degrees, asshole. I should leave _you _out here all day."

The asshole's back straightened further, impossibly making him even _taller_. "What the fuck are you? A dog cop?"

Hap's cigarette hit the ground shortly before the mountain of a man in front of him did. One shot to the jaw, another to the gut, then a third right in the nose and he was on his knees, sputtering around the blood gushing from his considerable beak. "Fuck, you broke my fucking nose!"

Hap was ignoring him, instead approaching the pitbull who had scurried and was hiding under the pickup truck that had to belong to the guy now bleeding in the yard. He crouched on his heels, whistling. "Come on, baby," he mumbled, hand out towards the dog.

There was a long pause before the dog inched closer, nose twitching, eyes big and worried. Hap allowed a small smile. "There you go, buddy. Come on. Not gonna hurt you, gorgeous."

The dog's nose touched his hand, sniffing the back then his wrist. He moved slow, turning his hand over. The dog sniffed that next, then stayed still while Hap put his palm on the top of its head, scratching behind an ear.

"There, see?" he said. "Good dog. You wanna come with me?"

He stood, eyeing up the prick still kneeling on the dirt. The guy had stopped yowling but he was staring at Hap with a good heaping glare of hatred.

"You don't like dogs? Don't get a dog," Hap snapped. Then he looked down to the trembling sack of skin and bones at his foot, nose coming up to nudge his dangling hand.

He crossed the lawn again, right in front of the kneeling giant, then stopped at Shelly's driveway. The dog was still across the yard watching him.

"You can come with me," he called to the dog. "You wanna come with me?"

The dog's tail gave a half-hearted wag.

"Then come on," he said with a hand clap.

The dog came. She (he saw it was a girl then) gave the asshole a wide berth, but she came, trotting kinda funny and he was guessing she must be hurt.

"You taking my dog?" the guy shouted.

"Yep," Happy answered, going back up the steps to Shelly's and holding the door open. The dog trotted through and Hap let the storm door bang shut.

Hap could hear the hair dryer running in the bathroom. Shelly had no idea what had happened. It was Saturday so he knew she didn't work. He wrote a quick note explaining why he was taking her car and promising to get it right back to her. Then he and the pit passed into the attached garage. Happy had to help the dog into the backseat of the car (on which he'd laid out a towel; he wasn't a total heathen). She had yelped when he did it, and it made him grit his teeth.

He crouched next to the open car door, bringing his face level with the dog's. "Don't worry girl," he mumbled, rubbing her ears again and smiling when she gave a groaning sigh. "We'll get you all fixed up, okay?"

As an answer she licked his face.

"You're welcome," he returned, then shut the door.


	9. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Those are all the requests I had sent by personal invite to, again, my most dedicated and insanely enthusiastic readers. Thank you so much for your ideas! Some were based on an existing AU, and others were based on your own ideas. So, using the stories based on your ideas, I welcome you to visit my profile page and cast your vote on which of these new AUs you'd like to see expanded into a full-blown story. (poll is at the top of the page)

This story will not be started until Final Wisdom is done, but I will be closing the poll as of **January 19th, 2014.** I can't guarantee the winning entry will be a full-blown epic, but it _will_ be a complete tale! So cast your votes and thank you again.

Happy reading and happy holidays!


	10. VOTING CLOSED

Thank you to the 53 voters who spoke their mind and shared their preferences on what my next story should be. I'm _happy_ to announce that the next FuzzyPeaches1 SOA FanFic will be about Happy Lowman and his dog rescue!

so stay tuned!

And thank you all again.


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